I Always Trust You
by Known Unknowns
Summary: Tag for 9x09 - "Holy Terror": This time, there are no second chances. There's just Dean, sitting alone in the bunker with a dead body in his arms.


_**I Always Trust You**_

_A/N: R.I.P. Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord. God, I hope they bring you back._

_Disclaimer: I don't own SPN._

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"Kevin," Dean whispers. He's met with nothing but the thick silence of the bunker. His home seems far too big now, too big for just him and the demon locked up in the basement. He's shaking. "Kevin," he tries again, even though he knows that the prophet can't hear him, will never hear anything again. "Damn it, Kevin."

Tears slip from the corners of his eyes. He doesn't know what it's like to lose a child, but he thinks it might feel a little bit like this. He manages to stand, barely. He makes his way over to Kevin, his vision still swimming from when Sam/Ezekiel/whoever the hell he was slammed his fist into the side of his head. He drops down next to Kevin.

Kevin's eyes are now burnt out sockets. His mouth hangs open slightly. On his chest lies a yellow sticky note with the teen's name scrawled in black sharpie. Dean reaches out and brushes dark hair out Kevin's face. His skin is cold, and he can see the color draining out of him. He's motionless on the ground of the bunker, and Dean doesn't know what to do with the body.

He doesn't want to burn it.

Hell, he _can't_ burn it.

He's failed again. Because of his web of lies, because of his foolish trust of the angel, Kevin is dead and Sam is gone. This death is squarely on his shoulders, and that just makes it all the worse. Tears burn moist trails down his face, and he lets out a broken sob. The prophet's words from earlier echo in the back of his mind, haunting him.

_"I always trust you... and I always end up screwed."_

Kevin really was a smart kid.

He doesn't really register doing it, but he slips an arm under Kevin's legs and another around his shoulders, pulling the prophet's slim form to his chest. The sticky note falls from his chest, drifting to the floor. "I'm sorry, Kev," he murmurs, his words barely audible. He ducks his head, trembling. "God, I'm so sorry."

How many people has he let die on his watch in the past few months? Castiel, Charlie, and now Kevin... and this time, there is no angel around to save the day. There's no one to bring back his friends with a snap of their fingers. No, this time, there are no second chances. There's just Dean, sitting alone in the bunker with a dead body in his arms.

It seems like an eternity that he kneels there with Kevin's corpse before he finally moves. He rises to his feet, feeling like he's in a dream. He walks up the stairs, gently laying Kevin's body down as he ducks into one of their utility closets to grab a flashlight and a shovel. He returns, picking up the teen with care before exiting his home and entering the chilly December night.

He picks a spot behind the bunker, overlooking a small stream. Kevin would go on walks sometimes to clear his head. He mentioned before that he liked the stream. It's as good a place as any.

He lays Kevin down on the grass. His tears have stopped, finally. A numb coldness fills his chest as he begins digging yet another grave. He won't burn Kevin's body, even though he should. He holds onto a faint hope in his chest that maybe they can find a way to bring the prophet back. He freezes at the thought of _they_ - there is no _they_ now, just him. Sam is gone.

As he digs into the frozen earth, he thinks about the terrified teenager who stole away with the Leviathan tablet, the one they had to chase around the grounds of a mental hospital for a half an hour before they finally tackled the quick little bastard. He remembered how Kevin stammered out his name, how nervous the kid was - the scrawny AP student from Neighbor who was scared as hell of the crazy shit he'd been dragged into.

In a different world, Kevin would be at Princeton now with his girlfriend, Channing. He wouldn't know anything about the supernatural, angels or demons - he'd be a doctor or a lawyer or something important. He'd be happy and rich and have 2.5 kids who would go on to be just as successful. He'd have the perfect little life, the dog and the yard. Whole shebang.

Not in this world, though. In this world, Kevin's girlfriend and mother are both dead at the hands of the King of Hell, who also kidnapped and tortured him. In this world, Kevin himself is dead because he made the mistake of trusting a hunter that no one should ever trust.

When will people learn? _Trust me, and you sign your own death warrant._

Soon, there is a six foot deep hole in the ground. With shaking arms, Dean carefully deposits Kevin's body in the hole. He strips off his t-shirt, the cold wind of the winter night whipping at his bare chest. He ties the soft material around Kevin's eyes, covering the black holes. He may as well make the prophet look peaceful in death. Dean purses his lips.

"I wish I could give you a good funeral, man," he whispers to the empty air, wishing there was someone around to hear him. "But everyone we know is dead." That fact hits him hard, even though he's known it for a long time. Except for Cas, everyone he cares for is either dead, or gone like Sam and Charlie. He grits his teeth, fighting against the heat building in his eyes.

"I'm gonna try to fix this," he promises. "I'm gonna kick that angel the hell out of my brother, and I'll get revenge. I... I know this is my fault... and I'm sorry for that... but all I can do for you now is gank Zeke's ass. Zeke or whoever the hell is riding Sammy." He shakes his head, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I'll try to find a way to bring you back, Kev. I will. I'm gonna show you that when you're family, you're _family_. No one gets left behind. No one."

With a swallow, he takes in the younger man's face one more time, memorizing it before he throws the first shovel full of dirt onto his still form.

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_A/N: This is my first SPN oneshot, reviews would be much loved to see how I did._


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